My Muse, My Obsession
by Na1n
Summary: [Full-Story Revision on The Artist.] Kurosaki Ichigo is an artist with paranoid schizophrenia. After struggling with his inner demon and lost muse, he meets the college student, Kuchiki Rukia. Realizing that she is the missing piece to his life, Ichigo uses her as his new muse. However, as he becomes obsessed with the beauty, will he hide her away for himself? IchiRuki. AU.
1. Prologue

_**A/N: **_**Welcome to the revised version of my one-shot, "The Artist". Okay, first off, I'm really sorry for the confusion this might have caused. I didn't want to make anyone upset or disappointed. However, I just decided that maybe mythology wasn't the correct path for me to take. So, I've changed the story entirely and made "The Artist" a simple one-shot and this is a spin-off of sorts.**

**This has major differences, including:**

**1) The doll isn't the main focus.**

**2) Ichigo has paranoid schizophrenia.**

**3) Rukia is an actual real living, breathing human being.**

**4) No Greek Gods and Goddesses. **

**5) This is (going to be) much darker.**

**Please give me feedback in the reviews as to whether this a step in the right direction, though I have no plans in changing it any more than I already have.**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO: Hekka, WhiteMoonofDeath, and especially Peridot0814 for helping me think through a new plot-line!**

**WARNINGS: None so far.**

**DISCLAIMER:**** Bleach and its characters belong to Tite Kubo.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Prologue_

* * *

"Mirror, mirror—tell me something.

Who's the loneliest of all?"

* * *

Gritting his teeth, he stared at the covered canvas angrily. It just wasn't working. Nothing was working. No matter how hard he tried, nothing would come out right. The tan vase holding a dozen or so violet roses was great—beautiful even. However, it was too boring. It lacked **emotion**.As did all of his other paintings before that—this was the fourth time he'd painted something horribly.

A cool hand grasped his shoulder, nails digging into the fabric-covered skin slightly. His breath hitched and the paint brush fell from his hands. Icy breath wafted over his neck, raising goose bumps on the tan flesh. He could picture it, as if the being was standing before him. Pallid lips stretched into an impossibly wide grin.

"_Heh. Ya jus' have no talent, do ya, King?" _the smallest of whispers sounded in his ear. That echoic, taunting voice pushed him over the edge and the artist grabbed his canvas from the stand. Getting to his feet abruptly, knocking over his stool, he swung the rectangular painting at his haunting apparition.

"SHUT UP!"

Laughter sounded, and then quieted into nothing as the being disappeared at the strike of the canvas, fading away like mist. The painter panted for lost breath. It was so easy for that bastard to rile him up. He stared at the painting that had planted itself against the wall, smearing oiled paint as it slid down. He'd have to clean that up later.

Kurosaki Ichigo was an aspiring artist—an artist who struggled with paranoid schizophrenia—

Picking up the small black stool that had fallen over, he set it back on its legs and lowered himself back onto it once more. Balancing his elbows on his thighs, he held his head in his hands.

—and he was utterly alone.

* * *

"Kuchiki-san, I must say: your essay on Japan's modern economy was splendid."

The ravenette turned around and smiled at her college professor. He had stopped her on her way out of the classroom. "Thank you, Ukitake-sensei," she bowed respectively.

"I'm sure your brother would be very proud of you indeed. I'll be sure to message him of your scores later," the white-haired man assured her with a truthful smile.

"Ah, um, thank you," Rukia said once more. "Sorry, sir, but I must be on my way…"

Her professor nodded and urged her on with a wave on his hand. "Alright. I'll see you next Monday."

Rukia nodded and turned, making her way out of the college campus. She was in her last year of college and was majoring in Japanese literature. She was the top of the class, and was already putting together a novel. She was quite famous in the literature department as it was. Rukia was thought to be one of the best writers of the generation.

Her brother was another matter entirely.

He was the CEO of Senbonzakura Inc., a famous publishing company. Being his younger sister, of course, she was always compared to him. It didn't get to her too much anymore. Rukia always held her head high and kept her self-confidence.

With a heavy sigh, she made her way down the sidewalk, passing stores with Halloween sales and houses with holiday-themed decorations. The scariest night of the year was coming up in just a few days. Rukia smiled to herself. She and Orihime planned on dressing up for the occasion.

A large gust of wind blew, lifting her skirt slightly and blowing through her short raven tresses. Rukia shivered and pulled her jacket closer to her body. Bumping into a sign as she did so, she blushed at the embarrassment, though no one had seen. Peering down, she read the large black text covering the white sign propped up on the pavement.

_Free admission for all today at Ayasegawa Art Museum, in honor of International Art Day! _

An arrow pointed to the white building on her right and Rukia pursed her lips in thought. Well, she had nothing else planned for the day, so why not? Walking up the steps, she entered the museum, smiling politely as a man with feather eyelashes handed her a guide and welcomed her.

She ventured out through the whitened hallways and walls, watching as children and adults admired the artwork. She stopped and saw all kinds of paintings and sculptures, tilting her head at the abstract ones. Rukia took a few pictures of the ones that were interesting, ones that she could possibly incorporate into her novel.

Her violet hues brightened, however, as she came to an abrupt stop in front of a painting of a white rabbit, perched in a wicker basket, its nose an adorable pink and expression simply adorable. Its ears were floppy as well, and Rukia just couldn't resist and raised her camera for a quick picture.

She paused however as a hand reached out from behind her and pointed at the sign stuck beneath the painting. Blinking, she read what was printed on the sign.

_NO PHOTOGRAPHY ON THIS PAINTING, PLEASE. THANK YOU._

"O-Oh," she mumbled, blushing slightly in embarrassment for her mistake. The hand withdrew, and Rukia turned to view its owner. One thing was for sure, she'd never seen someone with such bright hair.

It was a young man, taller than her, of course. There wasn't any adult in the world shorter than Kuchiki Rukia, except her cousin Toshiro. His skin was a dulled peach hue, as if he once was tanned but was slowly losing color. Tangerine brows were pulled into a scowl, with his mouth turned downward to make a matching expression. His locks were a fiery orange with bangs that hung down into mocha eyes. He wore red tight-fitting jeans, held onto his waist by two black belts, along with a white short-sleeved button-up and a black pea coat that was unbuttoned.

A teenager had out-smarted her.

"Thanks, but I already knew that we weren't supposed to take a picture of this one," Rukia huffed, crossing her arms and glancing off to the side in confidence.

"Oh yeah?" the boy murmured. "Then, why were you positioning your camera like you were about to?"

_Damn, this kid!_

"B-Because I wanted to zoom in and see closer!" she defended.

"Liar,"

"If you got a problem with it, go look at something else, kid!"

"I'm not a kid. I'm twenty-one."

"Still a kid to me,"

"Like you're one to talk, short-stuff,"

Anger boiled in her stomach and shot straight to her brain. This bratty _man _would be the end of her. "I'm not short! I'm—"

"—fun-sized?" he finished for her, a hint of a smirk showing on his lips. Rukia shook her fist as if to hit the orangette, but quickly exhaled to calm herself to face the painting.

Ichigo wasn't sure what to make of this ravenette woman who was staring at the painting as if she wanted to cuddle it and take it home. He usually kept to himself in public places; he wasn't one to socialize at all. However, seeing the bright expression in those vivid violet orbs, he felt as though he had to do something to make those hues focus on him—only him.

And when she'd turned to fully face him, she was even more beautiful than mere words nor brushstrokes on canvas could describe or portray. The supple porcelain tone of her skin, the slightest tint of red on her cheeks when he'd put her on the spot, the short raven locks that perfectly enveloped her heart-shaped face—all of it was simply mesmerizing. Her eyes, however, were another matter.

Ichigo wanted to lose himself in those eyes.

A sharp gasp escaped the orange-haired male as goose bumps rose on his skin. _He_ was here. That _thing _was here to invade his conscious once more. Echoic laughter sounded before that sickening, twisted voice was heard for a second time that day.

"_King, I think tha' chick reminds me of lil' ol' Masaki, don't ya agree? Ha! Maybe she'll die too!"_

Ichigo's teeth chattered.

"_Maybe you'll kill 'er by yer own hands, eh?"_

His stomach lurched and Ichigo wrapped his arms around his torso, his face pale. His knees shook and his teeth sunk into his lower lip to keep from grinding them together. His heart sped up to a dangerous speed. He felt as those words were going to swallow him whole, and god, he _couldn't breathe_. It was like he was out in the arctic with the smallest of lungs.

He felt as though he was drowning.

"**Are you okay?"**

That snapped him back into reality as a hand touched his arm. Fearful brown eyes locked with concerned purple and Ichigo immediately backed away from her touch. Rukia reached her hand back as though she was burned.

"Sorry. You just seemed like you were going to be sick. If you want, I can help you to the restroom," she suggested, watching as Ichigo regained his senses.

It seemed the voice was gone now. His hands were still shaking however. "I-I'm fine, thank you. I was just…," he couldn't think up an excuse.

"Don't worry about it." She had a feeling he was uncomfortable with the subject. "Um, can I at least know your name?"

The orangette straightened up. "I'm Kurosaki Ichigo."

Rukia gave a gentle smile and bowed. "I'm Kuchiki Rukia."

"It's nice to meet you."


	2. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_** Hey, guys! Welcome to the first chapter! I was so excited for this story that I decided to go ahead and whip this up quickly. I've already planned out about half of the fanfic, so this didn't take me long at all. I'm so tempted to start writing the second chapter as well, but I have other fics to tend to!**

**Thank you all for the suggestions and reviews! It really made me happy that the majority responded well to my new idea. Your reviews always help me out to write faster! Well, let's get the show on the road, shall we?**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO****: Hekka, WhiteMoonofDeath, and especially Peridot0814 for helping me think through a new plot-line!**

**WARNINGS****: GrimmHime. DON'T PANIC IT'S JUST A MENTION OF IT. NOTHING MORE. THEY AREN'T GOING TO BE MAJOR CHARACTERS SO CALM YOUR TITS. I couldn't pair Orihime with Ulquiorra for reasons. Gomens.**

**DISCLAIMER****: Bleach and its characters belong to Tite Kubo.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Chapter 1_

* * *

"_I settled down, _

_A twisted-up frown disguised as a smile._

_Well, you would have never known."_

* * *

As soon as the girl was out of sight, as soon as Ichigo's feet touched the sidewalk, he broke into a sprint. He had to get home, quickly. Though he knew the image of that woman he'd met at the museum would never, ever leave his head, he wanted to think about her in a fresh setting. What was her name again? Rukia. Yes, that's right. It was a unique name, not coming from Japanese decent. Somehow, it fit her. She was unlike any woman Ichigo had ever seen.

Her eyes were the most vivid feature to her appearance. Framed by long black lashes and accented with raven-shaded locks, it was easy to deduce that she was beautiful. Rukia had irritated him at first, but as they had walked around the museum, talking about the artwork and taking pictures of the art that was allowed to be photographed, Ichigo had come to realize that she was as stubborn as he could be, but there was a softer side to her as well.

He didn't know her well enough, but somehow, Ichigo felt as though her knew her well at the same time.

Panting with ragged breaths, he stopped running to brace his hands against his knees and regulate his breathing. Peering up, he realized he was already in front of his apartment complex. Ichigo stood once more and climbed the stairs, taking out his key and unlocking his own apartment. Opening the door, he stepped in and quietly shut it behind him.

Wasting no time, he rushed into the living room, searching in the closet for a blank canvas and setting it on his easel. The artist switched on the light and went through his drawer of oil paints, picking out several different shades of violet, a light cream color, black, and white. He grabbed a brush, jumbling the paints in his arms and dragged his stool to sit in front of the easel. Taking a seat, Ichigo set the paints on the ledge of the easel and opened the black one first.

"_Eh? Wha's this?"_

Ichigo didn't even need to glance behind him to know who was intruding on his work. That watery voice was a hint on its own, a distorted version of his own tone that haunted him nearly every second of the day. No matter how much he tried to will the demon of his own doing away, he'd always come back.

"I'm painting Rukia, now go away," he quietly muttered, dipping his brush into the paint and beginning to paint his masterpiece.

"_So King's got a new obsession, hmm?"_

"It's not an obsession!" Ichigo retorted harshly. "It's called a muse. Get your damn vocabulary right."

"'_che. Yer no fun today, King. 'll leave ya alone fer a lil' while. My treat," _and then that voice faded away.

The ginger sighed and continued his work, already having outlined one of her eyes and the shape of her face. _A break for once, how nice of him. _

_He's just gonna be full-on torturous tomorrow._

* * *

With a frown, she stirred her mocha latte nonchalantly. Checking the clock on the wall of the café, the woman sighed in worry. The fact that Orihime was late meant one of two things: a) she'd gotten into some accident/gotten lost, or b) that horrible boyfriend of hers was slowing her down.

Rukia pinched the bridge of her nose at the thought of Orihime's boyfriend. They'd been together since high school, and even though the two had been together for four years now, she still had doubts in the man's behavior. She was 99.9 percent sure he was a member of the yakuza.

The bell at the door of the café chimed, announcing someone's entrance or exit, and Rukia glanced back to see Orihime _alone_. She breathed out a sigh of relief. _No Grimmjow today, thank whoever's out there. _

"Kuchiki-san!" Orihime cheered excitedly as she took a seat across from the raven-haired girl. "It's been so long!"

Rukia raised a brow. "It's only been a week, Inoue."

"Oh," she blinked before quickly laughing it off. "Haha! Forgive me, Kuchiki-san, I've just been super busy is all!"

The shorter woman only shook her head, long used to Orihime's antics. She hadn't changed at all since high school, even after college. "Anything new?" Rukia asked with a smile.

"Ah! Grimmjow-kun got a motorcycle!" the orangette replied, clapping her hands together once in excitement. "He took me on a ride too! It was really fun!"

"You trusted him to take you on a motorcycle ride?" Rukia glowered. Of course Orihime would allow her wild boyfriend to take her on a ride.

"Mhm! Grimmjow-kun was really good too! He did doughnuts in the col-de-sac of one of the neighborhoods!"

"…Inoue."

"Hmm? What is it, Kuchiki-san?"

The petite girl crooked a finger. With a confused look Orihime leaned forward, only to feel Rukia's fist connect with the top of her head. "You fool!" Rukia growled out. "Don't do such dangerous things with that brute you call a boyfriend!"

Orihime's eyes watered and she rubbed the newly forming bump on her scalp. "Th-That hurt, Kuchiki-san!"

"It was supposed to! Now, I don't want to hear about you going on another motorcycle adventure with Grimmjow, got it?"

The other girl sniffled but nodded. Rukia knew that Orihime was a girl of her word; she believed that she'd obey her orders. With a sigh, she sat back and briefly apologized to her friend for hitting her. Orihime only smiled. "It's okay, Kuchiki-san, I know you're only looking out for me."

"You want something from the café? My treat," Rukia suggested, another form of an apology. She wasn't usually so rough with her dear friend. But, Orihime did anger her in some instances.

"No, no, I'm fine! Grimmjow-kun and I got dinner at a diner nearby before he dropped me off," she shook her head before offering Rukia a smile. "How was your week, Kuchiki-san?"

"I didn't do much, just the usual writing of my novel," she stated, taking a sip of her coffee before suddenly remembering her encounter yesterday. "Oh, I also went to the Ayasegawa Art Museum. It was free for the day. I also met this peculiar man there."

"Peculiar?" Orihime blinked.

Rukia nodded. "We were arguing for a moment, just teasing on his part I suppose, but he all of a sudden got the strangest look of fear and vertigo on his face. But, he snapped out of it after a second. He also had hair the color of an orange. Probably a member of the yakuza—he had the stubbornness of one."

Orihime's jaw nearly dropped at the mention of bright orange hair. She was for sure that wasn't just a coincidence; there was only one man with the thought to keep such an unruly color. "Wh-What was his name?" she asked only frantically. "Do you know?"

The dark-haired writer made a confused expression at her friend's sudden question. "Ichigo, why?"

"You mean, Kurosaki Ichigo?"

"H-How did you know, Inoue?" Rukia questioned, now shocked.

"He—that man is one of my patients," the orangette confessed. Orihime was an intern for a local therapist, Aizen Sousuke. After having worked there for a few months, she was allowed to see less important patients, one's that didn't visit quite as often.

"He is?" Rukia blinked. She hadn't expected that. Ichigo didn't seem like he had any severe problems, nor did he seem very depressed. Other than that one minor moment where he'd spaced out, she hadn't sensed anything odd about the man.

"Kuchiki-san, um, I know this sounds strange, but I think you should steer clear of him from now on," she fidgeted as she spoke. Orihime wasn't allowed to convey any personal information about her patient to Rukia, but a warning should do her good enough. However, knowing Rukia, she'd ask for the reason why.

The therapist intern first noticed something odd about Ichigo when he would suddenly yell or scream "shut up" and its variants during their sessions. It soon became evident that he wasn't shouting it at Orhime herself, but at some other "person". Of course, when she asked him about it, he refused to speak even a word. She knew something was up. And Orihime and Aizen knew that someday he'd grow to become violent.

They'd deducted that Ichigo had a form of schizophrenia, but they knew not to tell Ichigo that. He'd only deny it.

"What do you mean? Sure, he might've had some problems, but he's in therapy, right?" the violet-gazed woman raised a brow and folded her arms over her chest. "Despite even that, I can handle myself."

"J-Just listen to me, okay? Ichigo isn't…stable since what happened to his mother," Orihime replied before gasping and quickly covering her mouth with her hand. No personal information!

"His mother? What happened to his mother?"

The cat was out of the bag, and Rukia didn't seem like she was gonna let the topic go anytime soon. With a sigh, Orihime lowered her hands. "Ichigo's mother died two years ago. It was such a shock to him that he sought out therapy. Sh-She was killed brutally right in front of him too."

Violet eyes widened in horror and Rukia gulped. "I-I see. I'll make sure not to let my knowing of this slip."

"Kuchiki-san, please heed my warning."

"Will do," she sipped at her coffee.

She wasn't going to let go of him that easily.

* * *

A bell chimed at the door and Ulquiorra stood from his stool in the back room, making his way to the front of the shop. His blank expression stayed the same as he saw that it was Ichigo that had entered his home/means of business. "Kurosaki, what brings you here?" he questioned, wiping his dirtied hands on the apron that he wore.

The orange-haired fellow simply slid his hands into his pockets. "I want you to make me something."

"Do you have the money for it?"

Ichigo clicked his tongue. "Ya can't make it for free? Even for old time's sake?"

Ulquiorra simply glared at his long-time friend. "Being acquaintances from high school does not give you the ability to be cheap. I will give you a small discount, but you still must pay."

Ulquiorra Cifer was a sculptor and Ichigo's old friend from his high school days. He owned a small pottery shop in town, one that was quite popular for its handmade vases, considering it was conveniently next to a florist.

With a sigh, the painter reluctantly agreed. "Fine, fine, I'll pay."

"Then state what it is you would like," the dark-haired male stated, grabbing a pen and a pad of paper from underneath the counter and register.

"I want a porcelain doll, its midsection can be stuffed, but all visible parts of its arms and etcetera need to be porcelain. It needs to be life-size. It's of a girl," he unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket, handing it to the sculptor to reveal a charcoal sketch of the girl he'd met at the museum. "She's about four foot ten or so and thin with a small bust."

Ulquiorra scribbled down the information and folded the sketch back up. "Why would you require such a thing?" he asked.

"I need her as a model. Something I can move around and make different poses," Ichigo replied rather simply, pulling out his wallet. "You want me to pay beforehand."

"That would be preferable, yes."

"How much?"

The sculptor paused for a moment, calculating the expenses before stating a number. "I need 39408.67***** yen for all of the materials."

Ichigo sighed. "I'll have to visit the bank then. Mind if I swing by later and give you the money?"

"That is fine," Ulquiorra nodded, ripping the paper from the pad and pinning it to a corkboard behind him, along with a receipt.

"Uh, how long do you think it'll take?" the orangette asked.

"I have no other projects going on, so I would estimate around a week or so."

The man grinned. "Wonderful," he then waved a goodbye. "See ya later, Ulquiorra."

"Goodbye, Kurosaki," he waved with a usual monotone. The bell chimed once more as Ichigo exited, making his way down the sidewalk.

The emerald-eyed man stared down at the charcoal sketch and then looked back at the door. He narrowed his eyes before shaking his head and returning to the backroom.

"What has become of you, Kurosaki Ichigo?"

* * *

***Approximately $398.47**


	3. Chapter 2

_**A/N**_**: Alrighty, here we go! Welcome to the second chapter of my current favorite creation! I apologize for the long wait, but you guys should become accustomed to it because my updates usually take a month. Writing chapters drain a lot from me, sadly. **

**As for the reason of my lateness this time, I've become obsessed with a BL game called DRAMAtical Murder and I haven't been able to stop fangirling over it. So Bleach is hard to focus on. Speaking of Bleach, that new chapter man ;w;. Ichigo bby.**

**Okay, now I'm gonna stop rambling and let you guys read on! Lol I love how I ended this chapter tbh. **

**SPECIAL THANKS TO****: Hekka, WhiteMoonofDeath, and especially Peridot0814 for helping me with the plot.**

**WARNINGS****: A bit of OOCness.**

**DISCLAIMER****: Bleach and its characters belong to Tite Kubo.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Chapter 2_

* * *

"_We don't need these unclean_

_Feelings are nothing anymore,_

_They'll just bore a hole in me. _

_Thinking we need to be so happy_

_Never gonna last,_

_All you ask ends up in the trash."_

* * *

"Well, Kurosaki-Kun, how have you been this week?"

"Fine."

"That's good. Have you painted any new artwork?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

The therapist sighed. Inoue Orihime sure had her work cut out for her. Ichigo had been visiting, once a week, for almost a year now. However, she rarely got anything out from the man. Even simple questions were answered just as simply. A "yes" or "no" was all she pretty much got out of him. However, today seemed a bit different. Ichigo seemed distracted, his gaze glancing at the corner of the room.

_Maybe whatever he's seeing is the thing that he's been talking to, _she suspected, nibbling on the pen in her hand, _I'll ask him. _"Say, Kurosaki-kun, what are you looking at? Is someone there, in the corner of the room?"

His chocolate brown eyes slid over to focus on the woman and he stared for a few seconds before answering. "No, there isn't anyone," he said in a flat tone.

Her eyes gleamed and she began scribbling on the notepad in her hands. The fact that he hadn't noted how crazy it was that she would suggest something like that only proved that Ichigo was seeing _something_. He was a bad liar as it was; he just didn't seem to notice it.

"Well, Kurosaki-kun, have you had any dreams lately? Do you mind telling me about them?" Orihime asked in a hopeful tone. At times, when Ichigo was open, he used to have terrifying nightmares about his mother's death and would tell his therapist about them. Perhaps he'd have something to share this time.

However, the reaction spawned from the artist this time was entirely different was usual.

A small smile twitched at his lips and his mocha eyes warmed. "I had a dream," Ichigo murmured, "about this beautiful girl I met at the art museum the other day."

Gray eyes widened in surprise, both at the fact that the dream he'd had was a good one, and that she'd forgotten exactly what Rukia had said to her the day prior to this one. Writing down what Ichigo had replied with, she replayed the scene from yesterday in her head.

* * *

_"I didn't do much, just the usual writing of my novel," she stated, taking a sip of her coffee before suddenly remembering her encounter yesterday. "Oh, I also went to the Ayasegawa Art Museum. It was free for the day. I also met this peculiar man there."_

_"Peculiar?" Orihime blinked._

_Rukia nodded. "We were arguing for a moment, just teasing on his part I suppose, but he all of a sudden got the strangest look of fear and vertigo on his face. But, he snapped out of it after a second. He also had hair the color of an orange. Probably a member of the yakuza—he had the stubbornness of one."_

_Orihime's jaw nearly dropped at the mention of bright orange hair. She was for sure that wasn't just a coincidence; there was only one man with the thought to keep such an unruly color. "Wh-What was his name?" she asked only frantically. "Do you know?"_

_The dark-haired writer made a confused expression at her friend's sudden question. "Ichigo, why?"_

_"You mean, Kurosaki Ichigo?"_

* * *

"A girl?" Orihime inquired, pushing away the thoughts about Rukia. It was just a simple meeting between the two. They'd probably never meet each other ever again—a once in a lifetime chance. Plus, she'd told Rukia never to talk to Ichigo again.

The orange-haired man nodded. "Yeah, she…she lit up my world again."

"Lit up your world? How so?"

"I think she's filled the empty part of me that was left untouched after Mom…Mom left," he gripped the part of his shirt that covered his heart. "I want to see her again."

This was bad, real bad. Granted that Ichigo didn't sound as though he had any ill-intentions, he was still mentally unstable. As far as Orihime was concerned, their therapy sessions hadn't done much to help him in the slightest. Still, she had to somehow sway him off the path of seeing Rukia again. Slipping her red-framed glasses from her face, the woman looked at him with a concerned expression. "Kurosaki-kun, we've already been over the fact that human interaction is still a first for you. Do you really think you'll be all right with this girl?"

Ichigo bit his lip, debating on whether her statement was correct or not. Usually, it was hard for him to act normal around other people. That thing would come to haunt him mercilessly, as if he enjoyed making Ichigo become angry. And, once that happened, he'd become the weirdo who shouted at the wall—a guy who talked to things that didn't exist. Even at therapy sessions like this one, the white entity would do all sorts of shit.

However, when his inner demon decided to bother him at the art museum, Rukia had intervened and it seemed to keep the voice at bay. For once, Ichigo was able to talk in peace with another human being.

"She's…different," he began. "I don't act strange around her. She…calms me."

The busty therapist was shocked at this. Rukia calmed Ichigo's stability to a low? Did that mean that whatever Ichigo was seeing or hearing was washed away by her friend's presence? Hurriedly, she jotted down that theory. If that really was the case, then Rukia would be fine around him, in theory. Even if it was dangerous, though, she had to know.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Orihime deduced that their time was up. "Alright. How about the next time you come here, you tell me of your next encounter with her? I'm sure you two will meet again."

For once, Ichigo smiled and stood. "See ya." And with that, he left the room.

Orihime sighed and prayed for it to go well as she welcomed her next patient.

* * *

Rukia once more sat in her favorite café, this time going for the omelet rice for lunch. The ones they served here were simply to die for. Her laptop was seated on the table to her right and she typed away as she sipped her coffee. What she was typing were simply ideas for her new creation. She had a general idea of doing something dark, but no idea of what the specific plot would be.

A sigh escaped her lips and she gave a light pout. Maybe writing a romance novel would suffice? Just to add a bit of spice to the horror. But she had no experience with romance. How would she go about writing that?

Raising her mug of coffee once more to her lips, she heard the chime of the café bell. Not interested and not awaiting anyone, Rukia closed her eyes and focused on the caramel flavor of her drink. Simply delicious.

"Uh, just a slice of that chocolate cake," a voice interrupted her thoughts and Rukia's violet eyes snapped open. She'd heard that voice before. _It can't be, _she thought, turning her head to see a shock of bright orange.

Ichigo was there, fiddling with his wallet as he gave the worker the correct amount of yen. The man waited as she cut the cake, looking off at the far corner and…_glaring at it? _

Rukia craned her neck to see if there was anyone sitting there, but there was no one at all. What was he staring so intently at?

"Sir? Your cake?" the girl at the cash register spoke, holding out a plate to Ichigo. The orangette blinked and faced her with an apologetic smile.

"My bad. Thanks," he took the cake from her and Rukia could've sworn that she saw the waitress blush a bit. Well then.

In a second's decision, Rukia bit her lip before making herself known. "Ichigo?"

The artist spun around with wide eyes to view the girl from the museum. The girl he'd been dreaming about. The girl he'd been longing to see. "Rukia," he breathed.

With a friendly and inviting smile, the woman motioned to the seat across from hers. "Here, sit and we can talk again."

Ichigo couldn't help but blush a bit and shuffle over to where she offered. Taking a seat, a gentle expression washed over his features. "I, um, I've been wanting to talk to you actually."

"Really?" Rukia shrugged. "I'm pretty boring as it is."

The male put a forkful of cake into his mouth, swallowing before speaking. "I don't think so," he smiled.

"I find you _very_ interesting."


End file.
